


50 Ways to Leave Your Lover

by fizzinq



Category: The Muppet Show
Genre: Gen, Songfic, well sorta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 07:02:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15261999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizzinq/pseuds/fizzinq
Summary: What Sam really didn’t expect was to see Floyd’s face, peeking out of the passenger seat window of his car, smirking at the eagle he’d feuded with for so long.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh songfic based on song of same name as fic ... floyd and janice performed it on the muppet show so i got inspo  
> one of my friends and i are kin w sam and floyd respectively so i used this idea based on their canon which is ... kinda sad? their ex wife (mentioned in fic) was abusive (not mentioned, whoops it’s 3 am) and it’s all kind of a mess ANYWAY

Sam had been planning this night in his head for months, and tonight was his only chance to go through with it for a long, long time.

_Yes, yes,_ he thought, nervously checking over his shoulder as he slipped out of the bed he shared with his wife, _tonight, tonight._ Every movement had been planned and rehearsed; every motion had had an excuse or two attached to it; every alternative path was examined and this had been the best one. He crept over to the closet, and slowly opened it, feeling himself wince when the sliding door rattled as it rolled along the rails. Once the door was open, he checked over his shoulder once more at his sleeping wife, feeling tension build as she stirred, turned over, and promptly fell back asleep. With a silent sigh, he took the briefcase he’d packed with all he really needed - photos, documentation of identity, a few necessities, and some of his own things - out of the closet, and returned the door back to its place, holding onto the other hinge to keep its rattling at a low. He snuck back across the room to the door that led into the hallway, and, once more, checked the empty place in their - no, no longer, that was hers and hers alone, now - bed he’d left, and opened the door as little as he needed to fit through. He kept the handle turned as he closed it, and, as slowly and noiselessly as he could, turned it back to latch once the door was closed. 

He let out a long-held breath once he was out, and looked towards the next door - the door closer to the stairs led into the children’s bedroom. This was something he had not considered, quite yet. He stood in front of it for a while, aliform hand hovering over the doorknob as he thought this through. Tired and defeated, he stepped away, and dropped his hand back to his side. “I’ll come back for you,” he mouthed, closing his eyes and returning back to the task at hand. He took wide, light steps over to and down the stairs, and took every precaution to stay on carpet or another cushioned surface as he made his way towards the front door. He took his copy of the key off of the table, holding it between his fingers as he unlocked the door and opened it, still delicate and slow as ever. He crept out onto the porch, and took a last look into the home he hated before closing the door. He gently placed the briefcase on the wooden floor of the porch, and held the key in his right wing, thinking idly to himself as he locked the door. After this, he hadn’t planned things too well. Maybe he’d walk, he thought, or fly if it ever came to that necessity. But to _where?_ Maybe the fire station would take him in. Or maybe he could sleep at the park or something. He was technically homeless, now, wasn’t he?

Once he’d gotten the door locked successfully, he took a deep breath to face the unknown, finally turning around to the stairs to go to... Whatever he did or didn’t expect.

What he _really_ didn’t expect was to see Floyd’s face, peeking out of the passenger seat window of his car, smirking at the eagle he’d feuded with for so long.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As soon as Floyd stopped singing, he started laughing. “Man, I didn’t know you sang!” The smile on his face was wider than Sam had ever seen, and than he himself had ever felt - at least, while sober.

“Hey, Sam.”

Floyd’s voice, raspy and worn out from all sorts of pressures to his chest and lungs, spoke into the darkness, only broken by the street lights and the light from Sam’s porch. After that, it was silent, save the rumbling of the car’s engine and the buzzing of the same porch light, crowded with moths. Sam stood there, beak slightly open, in shock. Floyd could only laugh, gently slapping the car and bowing his head at the reaction. His shoulders shook as he held back as well as he could.

“How- How did you-“ Sam regained his composure, straightening his posture, fluffing up his feathers, and knitting yet another wrinkle into his brow. “How did you know this was happening?”

Floyd held up a finger, asking Sam to be patient and wait for a response until he could talk. He brought his head back up and coughed a couple of times into his fist before he continued. “Teeth told me that somethin’ was up with ya n’ gave no further details. I know that you n’ I haven’t been on the best’a terms through the time we’ve known each other, but he sounded real serious, n’ I wanted ta make sure you were safe, n’ all. He really cares about you, man.” His expression had sombered, a look very unlike Floyd, and Sam got a feeling that he really wasn’t kidding. This really was out of the goodness of his heart.

Though that did help him trust the situation, Sam still didn’t trust _Floyd_. He approached the car begrudgingly, and Floyd moved so he could open the door. As he approached, the smells of fire, marijuana, and other mystery smells he had a feeling he should absolutely _not_ ask about got stronger and stronger. He sighed, and opened the door, moving to climb in.

Floyd piped up. “Hey, careful when ya get in, the ceiling’s kinda-“

Sam’s head hit the edge of the car’s frame with a dull thud, and he hissed in pain.

“...Low.”

Gruffly, Sam ducked farther down, and climbed into the passenger seat, placing his briefcase at his feet and shutting the door. Buckling his seatbelt, he finally made a statement. “This vehicle _reeks_ of cannabis. Do you even _have_ a driver’s license?”

“Yeah, I do,” he said, pulling it out of his pocket and flipping it over to Sam between his fingers, “but it ain’t necessarily _me_.” The card was a valid license for the state of California, but it did not read Floyd’s name. In blurred black text, the card read the name “Audrey.” The person in the photo did share a resemblance, but Sam could tell they weren’t quite the same. The realization clicked in his brain, and he handed the card back wordlessly, allowing Floyd to pocket it once more.

Floyd pulled off the shoulder and back onto the quiet street, making idle conversation once he hit an intersection. “So, uh... Teeth actually didn’t tell me what was goin’ on. Could I ask what’s up?” He tapped the steering wheel as he waited the obligatory few seconds before moving on.

Sam curled up slightly just at the concept of relaying his whole tale this early in the game. “...No, thank you.” He replied meekly, watching out the window and gently tapping the dashboard. Floyd nodded, and turned up the radio to be just barely loud enough to be heard, allowing it to fill the silence.

Sam appreciated the ambience. He looked around at Floyd’s car, allowing his mind to wander to each thing so he could calm down. The car was a dirty red Chevy, obviously in disrepair but not to the point of danger. The seats were scuffed up and settled, and there were things stuck to or hung on every surface. A few necklaces dangled from the mirror; there were various pins on the back of the seats’ headrests; the shifter had a big peace sign sticker right in the middle of it, as cliché as that was. The backseat had all sorts of things in it - Floyd’s oldest bass guitar, which was missing a string and scratched, but obviously had plans for its repair in the works; a few small, unlabeled boxes, which appeared to contain medicine (or something not prescribed, Sam thought, rolling his eyes); and a thin notebook, stuffed with papers and Polaroids, all labeled with the event and the date in messy red pen - were just a notable few. The window was open, and the wind blew through Sam’s feathers and Floyd’s hair. The breeze made Sam feel good. It, quite literally, cooled him down.

The radio faded into the next song, and Floyd tapped his fingers against the wheel to the drum beat, mumbling along to the words:

> _“The problem is all inside your head,” she said to me_  
>  _The answer is easy if you take it logically_  
>  _I’d like to help you in your struggle to be free_  
>  _There must be 50 ways to leave your lover._  
>  _She said, “it’s really not my habit to intrude;_  
>  _“Furthermore, I hope my meaning won’t be lost or misconstrued._  
>  _“But I’ll repeat myself at the risk of being crude.”_  
>  _There must be 50 ways to leave your lover._

Sam felt as if this was the best and worst time this song could’ve come on. He was very satisfied that it did, and even quietly sang along.

> _Just slip out the back, Jack_  
>  _Make a new plan, Stan_  
>  _You don’t need to be coy, Roy_  
>  _Just get yourself free._  
>  _Hop on the bus, Gus_  
>  _You don’t need to discuss much!_  
>  _Just drop off the key, Lee_  
>  _And get yourself free._

At this point, Floyd had started belting out the lyrics, and Sam had nearly matched his volume.

> _Just slip out the back, Jack_  
>  _Make a new plan, Stan_  
>  _You don’t need to be coy, Roy_  
>  _Just listen to me._  
>  _Hop on the bus, Gus_  
>  _You don’t need to discuss much!_  
>  _Just drop off the key, Lee_  
>  _And get yourself free._

As soon as Floyd stopped singing, he started laughing. “Man, I didn’t know you _sang_!” The smile on his face was wider than Sam had ever seen, and than he himself had ever felt - at least, while sober.

Sam was laughing, too, if purely from adrenaline. All of this had hit him at once, and he was tired, and all he could feel was the freedom of the moment. He put his hands to his face, unsure of what to do with them. “I- Iiiii-I didn’t know I did either!!” He responded, purely honestly. He’d been completely taken over by how he’d felt, and he liked it.

The two of them drove off, laughing and singing, really just letting themselves be happy.

Sam could get used to this.


End file.
